Cat Got Your Tongue?
by LesserThanThree
Summary: When a serial killer strikes a small city in the Southeastern US, a mysterious detective and his childhood rival take the case on, only the realize this won't be a simple, open-shut case.  Hooray for sucky summaries!  Rating subject to change. LxOC.
1. Cat Fetish

**Hullo everybody! Yay, my first Death Note fanfiction! I hope you enjoy it, and I hope to update ASAP ^_^**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of its characters (unfortunately). This goes throughout the whole story, capiche? **

**Claimer: I do own my characters, though. Do not steal them, and I don't have to get my slingshot, mkay?**

**On with the story!**

**-X:x:X-**

Another car parked parallel to the yellow tape tied between the old lamp posts. Many weary, bloodshot eyes glanced up from the evidence to observe the vehicle many of the investigators could only afford in their dreams. Many returned back to work, eager to document everything before the summer thunderstorms washed it all away. But the chief of the Savannah Police Department's eyes remained on the car's tinted windows. He was sure the greatest detective alive (perhaps to ever live) was reclined on its leather innards.

A grey head popped out of the ink-colored automobile, followed by the rest of the well-suited old man. He walked erect and tall, clutching a briefcase, the chief noted, into the crime scene.

Was this L? Was this the greatest detective on Earth? Was the chief looking into the wise and aged face of his hero and role model? At the man that had solved every case thrown his way like it was child's play? Just to think, L thought this murder was important enough to come all the way to this tourist trap of a city in lil' ol' Georgia! And the chief the first person ever to see him in person! Oh, just wait until the news hears abou-

A firm, wrinkly handshake broke his thoughts.

"Good afternoon sir. You must be Chief Joey Gnann, I presume?" the new arrival asked in a precise voice, to which the officer belatedly and lamely replied "Uh, yessir."

"Please, call me Watari," the elderly man continued. "As L's main associate, I would like to thank you for allowing us to examine this crime scene firsthand."

Realizing his assumption was completely wrong, Mr. Gnann let the admiring sparkle drain from his eye as he spoke to Watari. Gnann didn't even care if his Southern drawl showed. Who cared if L's associate thought he was a country hick?

"No, sir. The pleasure is ours."

"Well, we should get on with this then. I'll bring L out here."

_Come on Joey, don't make a fool of yourself,_ Gnann thought behind closed eyes. He mentally checked himself, making certain he wouldn't screw this up from the Police Department. With no leads, they needed this guy more than anything, if they wanted to shut this case (and keep their jobs).

Joey Gnann opened his eyes, ready to gaze onto the face of greatness. He blinked, taking in his idol, a clean and streamlined….laptop?

Chief Gnann studied the computer screen, which sported an "L" in a fancy-looking font. He looked up at the old man holding the portable computer and offered a look of pure _"Is this a joke?"_

"Hello Gnann. I am L."

The police chief's eyes snapped back to the laptop as the eerie voice flowed from its speakers, a series of under- and over-tones from what the original voice would have been. Disguised.

"P-pleasure to m-meet you sir. Well, uh, I 'spose we'll send you some photographs of the scene for you to draw your own conclusions," the chief said, only slightly recovered. He had planned the whole meeting around L being there in person. Unless Watari has photographic memory and will relay it to the detective later or something … Gnann's reasoning was getting fuzzy, and he was confused overall by this situation.

"That will be unnecessary," the laptop replied, almost in a pur. "This is what the children nowadays call a "Video Chat." I can see everything through this computer's built-in camera, although all you can see is my insignia. Now, if you please, I would like to observe the corpse at once. We have little time to lose."

Chief Gnann, not quite so dumbstruck now, led the wrinkly assistant and the detective in the computer to the large tarp in the corner of the vacant lot. They trudged through the damp, soggy grass, past the rust old pick-up truck, and under the even older live oak. Gnann weaved through the crowd of police officers scribbling away at their notepads. The chief lifted the cover, revealing the mangled and bloody victim.

In a hotel room, only four blocks away, a man crouched on rather sleazy upholstery of a couch. The light from his computer screen was all that illuminated his pale face and black hair, since the blinds were drawn and all other lights were switched off. One hand rested on his blue-jeaned knee, the other feeding a forkful of strawberry shortcake into his mouth. He placed the fork on the now empty plate, and returned his eyes to the gruesome images on his laptop.

The first thing the man noticed, although the slight graininess of the footage, was the victim's eyes. Wide open and terrified. He took note of the three deep gashes on each side of the dead man's face. They somewhat resembled whiskers. He also noticed the edges of the ears had chunks sliced off, making them appear pointed like feline ears. As the footage changed angles, the raven-haired man saw a long metal chain around the corpse's neck, and the scratch-marks along its bare torso. A leash and claw marks, possibly?

"Someone has a cat fetish…" the man muttered, mostly to himself.

A hand attached to someone off-screen pulled the dead man's jaw downward, leaving the mouth open for the camera to see. Every one of the front teeth was filed to points. Through the mess of blood that stained the makeshift fangs red, it was clear that the tongue was missing. Chopped clean off.

While others might have gagged at this image, and it was clear that some people not in the camera's line of sight were indeed sick to their stomachs over the sight, the man remained calm. His dark eyes just observed the scene, much like a scientist might observe a new species of insect that might hold the cure to cancer.

"That is all I need," the man finally said aloud. The screen went blank.

The man shuffled to the room's tiny fridge and took a slice of cheesecake from the top shelf. He flicked on the lamp next to the couch and returned into his half-sit, half-crouch position. Right on cue, the cellular phone on the coffee table began to buzz, the word "WATARI" plastered on its screen. The man delicately picked up the phone, holding it with his thumb and index finger a ful inch away from his ear.

"What are your thoughts, L?" a familiar, precise voice asked from the other end of the line.

"I'm 62 percent sure the tongue wasn't removed to mail to family members, for proof of the killing," the man replied. "If it was, it would make more sense to use a appendage with something like a birthmark or a mole. Something that the relatives could recognize that belonged to the victim …. No, I believe it was for the murderer's personal enjoyment." He paused. "However, we cannot be sure until the victim is identified. That should be easy enough once my dear 'friend' is here."

"And Watari, please pick up my good 'friend' at the airport. Her flight should be arriving soon." He put an odd emphasis on the word "friend," almost sounding sarcastic or suggestive.

Watari gave him a "Yes sir" and hung up.

L sighed and nibbled his fingertips. Although he wouldn't admit it to anyone, he was nervous. Hand him a rotten corpse and tell him to find the killer, and there's no problem. I would go as far as to say he'd enjoy that particular situation. But a hand L a live person- one he would have to trust for the next period of time none the less- and he's sick to his stomach.

L stared at his untouched cheesecake slice, preparing himself for perhaps his worst nightmare.

**-X:x:X-**

**Please review! Constructive criticism is appreciated, but like I said this is my first fanfic. Don't completely butcher me, if you would be so kind. Thanks!**

**-Lesser  
**


	2. Strangers and Someone All Too Familiar

**Thanks everybody for all of the reviews and support! *tries to hug you all through my laptop, but just ends up with a smudgy computer screen* ...Uh... On with the story!  
**

**-X:x:X-**

The redhead stared at Clarity in the near-empty elevator. The stranger's crimson bangs hung over her metallic, gray eyes, but they didn't relent. Her black t-shirt fit loosely on her scrawny frame. The tops of the young woman's shoes seemed reach her upper thigh or higher, hidden under her large shirt; it looked like the bottom half of footie pajamas with sneaker soles. As unusual as it might have appeared, they looked quite comfortable.

Clarity sighed and the other girl did the same. She tore her eyes from her stranger of a reflection, hoping it would transform into something more familiar when she looked back. But the person in the reflective elevator door still had unnaturally red hair, an oversized shirt, and those ridiculous shoes … pants … whichever.

Why Clarity agreed to this, she wasn't sure. Maybe it was the possibility of a new adventure, a new case, a new start.

… Or maybe it was because she was in desperate need of cash.

Why else would anyone take up an offer made over the phone (at three in the morning, no less) to come to this tourist trap? Why else would anyone agree to change their whole appearance, so they wouldn't be recognized? Why else would anyone leave their safe home to join a little-known investigation, having no idea what their partner even looks like? Why else would anyone believe their employer is _the_ L? Why else would anyone let some creepy old guy pick them up from the airport, claiming to be taking her to "headquarters?" They were going to a _hotel __room _for Christ's sake!

Clarity glanced over her shoulder at the elderly man, making sure he wasn't standing too close behind her. He wasn't, but she saw him shift nervously under her hard gaze.

_Good,_ she thought._ Fear is good. That means I can slip out of this if it becomes necessary. If this "L" dude is anything like this old geezer, I can probably manipulate them both if I need to. At the least, I can make them raise my pay._

Feeling quite smug with her resolve, Clarity watched her unfamiliar reflection slide away with the door. She stepped into the hallway, the old man close behind.

The hotel room door creaked under Clarity's touch. As she heard the elderly man's footsteps retreat into the room across the hall, she took in the dimly lit place. The overwhelming scent of sweets. The garbled sound of voices through a TV in another room. Her shoes (uh, pants?) squeaked as she padded across the tile floor of the kitchen, and continued into the living area. She ran her eyes over the rather tacky curtains, the even more unattractive material of the couch, and the plain, white shirt of the man who was sitting on it.

Wait, didn't she now that guy from somewhere?...

"Oh, no. Oh hell no," Clarity muttered, shaking her head.

Watching those dead, black eyes glance up at her conjured up waves of memories that washed over her mind. Memories of a little orphanage in England, and the children that had found a home within its stony walls. Images of a little black-eyed boy perched on his chair flooded her head. Even some thoughts of a certain greasy-haired girl, spending recess with her nose stuffed in textbooks came to mind. Her little brain a cloud of facts, her hand quickly scrawling out long and detailed essays, only to come in second to that crouching, disheveled twit. A little girl named Clarity, and her most hated rival and classmate, L.

Clarity blinked away her memories, focusing steely, dagger-like eyes on the crouching, disheveled twit in front of her. She had thrown her childhood away because of this man. Sure, she wasn't required to, like the children at Wammy's House were nowadays. But something inside her, something fierce, something foolishly headstrong, had kept her from giving up the fight.

"Miss Clarity. It's nice to see you again after all of these years," said L flatly.

Fighting off the urge to punch him square in the jaw, Clarity took a seat on the other end of the couch. _Be nice to the man, Clare,_ she thought. _It looks like he's the one writing your paycheck._ That notion clearly failed.

"So you want me to believe _you_ are the greatest detective in the world?" she spat, completely ignoring his greeting.

"Correct," said L, pinching a strawberry from the pile on the coffee table and popping it into his mouth.

There was an awkward silence between the two, until Clarity realized that he wasn't going to elaborate. She gave him an over-exaggerated eye roll, mumbling, "Clever alias. It must have taken you weeks to come up with that one. I mean, how original, using your first name and all."

If the man who claimed to be L was annoyed by this sarcastic comment, he didn't show it. He only reached for another strawberry, his expression the picture of perfect patience.

It only made Clarity madder than hell.

"Why do you need my services? If you were truly the real L, you would be able to solve this by yourself, without my assistance. L has done so in the past, I mean."

"That is true," he replied around a mouth-full of strawberry. "However, you appear to know Savannah quite well." He retrieved a stack of papers off of the table between two fingers, and held them close to his face. "Journalist for the local news, private investigator, even a spy that brought a former local mayor to justice…" He trailed off, letting the papers flutter to the floor as his black-rimmed eyes returned to Clarity. "But rest assured that I will only need you for information. We … _I_ have no time to research and examine the whole city. And since you mostly likely know the shadows and side-streets of Savannah more than anyone here, considering your record, you seemed the most logical person to invest my trust in." He fluidly plucked another fruit from the pile. "Plus, you've been rightfully charged for hacking into a government official's computer, but were proven innocent due to lack of evidence. That degree of skill may be of use."

The redhead's first thought was that L didn't trust her as far as he could throw her, which didn't seem very far once she glanced at his stick-like arms poking out of his white sleeves. No; if anything, he trusted that the money he was giving her would keep her quiet. And for all she knew, she could be the only Wammy's kid he had made contact with since he left the place. The children were informed that the great detective known only as the letter "L" was brought up in the orphanage, and some had their guesses who he or she was. But no one knew for sure. Clare had even suspected that odd, distant boy who responded to the same name as the detective was him. But who was foolish enough to use their real name as an alias? Certainly L the child and L the detective couldn't be the same person, right?

"Wait, are you implying that you doubt my deductive skills?" Clarity screeched belatedly, her hands in fists. Not waiting for a reply, her eyes scanned across the man before her, processing every detail they picked up. "Seeing that when you touch the coffee table, your fingers stick longer than average," she noted matter-of-factly, "you have either been eating glazed pastries or haven't showered recently." She sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. "Most likely both. Also, the calluses on your heels and balls of your feet suggest that you don't wear shoes often, or at all. And I can tell by the crumb on your collar that said pastry was a jelly doughnut," she finished with a victorious grin, flicking a speck off of the base of L's neck.

"Well done, but you know me all too well, Miss Clarity," said the raven-haired man calmly, although he had flinched at her contact. "Besides, details are useless if you draw no helpful conclusions from them," he continued, not raising his eyes from the dingy carpet. "Judging by the band of paler skin on your finger, I'm ninety-eight percent sure that you usually wear a ring on that finger. The slight indention on it indicates that you wore said ring for a long time. There's a two percent chance that it is a family heirloom. If that is correct, then there's a five percent chance that you've sold it reluctantly, which would explain its absence. This leads me to believe you are in financial trouble, and should therefore behave, before I find a more suitable, and more grateful replacement."

If her smile a million kilowatts before, there must have been a short circuit in the time L was talking. She uneasily folded her hands into her lap, stroking the empty space on her finger with her thumb. Defeated, yet again.

"Yeah … well, L's a stupid name for a detective," Clarity said curtly and turned her attention to the television.

**-X:x:X-**

**Hey you! Yeah, you! See that magical button that says "Review this Chapter"? Click it, click it hard! Feedback is always appreciated, and I need as much as I can get! Thanks!**

**-Lesser  
**


	3. Simple

**I'm baaaaaack! Thought I had forgotten about this? Nope! Life's been pretty busy, so I haven't been able to update lately. Just be patient with me. You won't be getting rid of me that easy. :P**

-X:x:X-

"_MUST_ you do that while I'm thinking?"

L glanced up from his army of animal crackers to meet his accomplice's cold, metallic eyes. If looks could kill, he was sixty-two percent sure there would have been white chalk marking his outline and forty of those incompetent police officers around his body at that moment.

"Whatever does Miss Kale mean?" he said lucidly, perfectly shielding the sarcasm that was in his thoughts. He selected another camel-shaped cookie and slipped it between his teeth, beheading it with a loud snap.

"That! I mean, you don't even eat the rest of the cracker!" retorted the redhead, gesturing toward the growing stack of headless rhinos and lions. She gave a quick, nervous laugh. "Is this some kind of test of my sanity? Hmm? You haven't changed at all, if you're this irksome on a daily basis!"

Just as L thought. His little experiment had drawn the conclusions he had expected. The "test of sanity" remark had revealed that Miss Clarity Kale had grown 0.5% more paranoid than when L had left the orphanage. This could be of his advantage, if her suspicious nature had made her careful. Other than that, the fiery-headed woman was exactly the same as the freckle-faced, brunette teen she once was: stubborn, loathsome, and not by any means agreeable. Totally different, yet exactly the same.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," L finally said. "Now tell me what you have gathered from those photographs."

"Well," Clarity sighed, picking up the snapshots L had printed for her. "It is obvious this was a murder." She held out the image of the unidentified man with "claw marks" along his torso (The same one plastered on L's laptop not three hours ago). "I also think it is safe to say this guy died of excessive blood loss."

It was here that she paused.

L sat in quiet observation, trying to pick apart what she was really thinking. But those silver eyes might as well have been stone walls, a steadfast barrier between her thoughts and the outside world. To put it bluntly, it pissed him off.

"I think he was held captive for a period of time. Tortured, perhaps."

The distant-sounding statement snapped the hunched man out of his thoughts. "Care to explain?"

Clarity held out the photo at the top of the stack, letting the victim's wide eyes and gaping mouth scream up at the detective.

"The way the teeth are filed. It appears to be a makeshift version of Matatah, a day-long ritual in Indonesia where they file down teenagers' teeth to make them flat. Something along the lines separating the kids from the beasts, or whatever.

"As you see, in this case, the purpose was to make them appear more like fangs. Frankly, it looks rather amateurish and rushed. I doubt he got it done professionally, for some strange fashion statement. But the reason I've brought this up is this: it still would have taken a long time to sharpen every single tooth. Long enough for someone to notice. If what you are telling me is true, and there are indeed no witnesses, this leads me to believe that the 'tooth job' was done elsewhere. Where no one could hear or see them."

"Interesting," said L, standing and shuffling over to the drawn curtains. He pulled one aside and peeked through into the pounding rain. "But it doesn't help find the identity of this man. As I've said, he had no driver's license or anything of the sort when we found him, and no one has filed a report of a missing person…." Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the pink crepe myrtles and the soaked cars in the parking lot below. Instantly, like a light bulb had flickered on above his head, the raven-haired man quickly turned and jerked the papers from Clarity's hands. Ignoring her surprised yelp, he shoved a particular photo inches from her face and tossed the rest over his shoulder.

"Did you happen to notice this wristwatch?" L asked, jabbing a bony finger at golden timepiece in the picture.

"Yeah. A ritzy watch. I can tell it's genuine. Must have cost a fortune. What about it?"

"Correct, Miss Kale. Now, how many people in Savannah can afford such a watch?"

"One: stop calling me that. My name is _Clar-i-ty_. Two: not many, I believe. Why?" Her brow furrowed incredulously over confused eyes.

"Please don't make me spell it out. I thought you were more deserving of the second highest score on the Logic Exams, all those years ago," L said in an exasperated tone, meeting her death glare of a reply with a sigh. "This reduces our scope of search by a significant amount. Instead of wading through the records of the entire population, we…_I_ only have to look into areas were high-income citizens live. Quite simple, once you think about it. I'm sure even a _fool_ could have deduced that…"

Suddenly, a swift and biting force snapped the detective's head sideways, sending him tumbling back toward the window.

* * *

Clarity sat cross-legged on the floor, her hands an inconstant blur, her fingertips engaged in a complicated tap-dance on the black keys of her laptop. She only glanced up from the growing face of her computer once, when they met the red patch of the otherwise pale cheek across the room. She smirked to herself, radiating with self-satisfication for once. Clarity had only slapped L once before, when she received a mysterious Valentine's card under her pillow ten years ago. Sure, it had turned out it was a prank set up by a little blonde boy across the hall. But she never apologized for inflicting onto the dark-headed boy what the blonde had deserved. And she sure wasn't apologizing now.

"I've set up the coding you instructed," Clare chimed too sweetly, as if the skin of her palm hadn't just connected the skin of L's face with a crack as loud as thunder. "So if anyone tries to hack into my database, all the information will be scrambled beyond recognition … Quite simple, once you think about it. I'm sure even a _fool_ could have encrypted it."

A sour response rose to L's lips, but it was soon overruled by the buzzing cellular phone on the coffee table. He plucked it into his delicate grasp and pressed the speakerphone button. Soon the voice of the elder man from the elevator filled the room.

"-have just found another victim, this time in Charleston, South Carolina. A tourist reports that he stumbled across a taped-up garbage bag in the middle of the sidewalk. When he went to move it and clear the walkway, it ripped. Inside was a male body, with the ears chopped to a point, scratches along his neck and chest, and his tongue missing. I'm sending photographs of the scene to Miss Kale's computer as we speak."

At that moment, Clarity's laptop screen changed faces from the encrypted code to the gory crime scene. Just as Watari had said, the images were composed of a half-naked, bloody man partially out of his garbage bag and duct-tape cocoon.

The redhead heard L say some more words into the phone's speaker, but it sounded more like a million miles away rather than across the room. She also heard it faintly snap shut. She didn't even recoil as the hunched detective hovered over her, examining the evidence over her shoulder. All she could do was stare, quicksilver eyes frozen to the corpse's on the screen.

_Oh God, I'm think I'm gonna be sick._

"Miss Clarity, is something the matter?"

The young woman's head swiveled to the man behind her like a whip, her glance cutting through his words. She tried to speak, but her voice came out more like a screech:

"_That dead man right there was my fiancé!"_

-X:x:X-

***cue dramatic music* DUN DUN DUN! So yeah, I'm not really happy with this chapter, but I promise to make the next one better. I'll try to update sooner, too. Please review! Your feedback makes me a better writer! **

**-Lesser**


	4. Broken Seas and Spooning

**Hey guys! Geez, I've been busy lately. I hope this installment will be decent, considering the well of my imagination has been sucked dry because of History and Literature projects. No matter! On with the story!**

**-X:x:X-**

Many eyes found themselves adrift in the Atlantic that evening. Its dark waters were calm, as if the wrinkles of the recent summer storm had been smoothed with a hot iron. But underneath its mask of serenity, Charleston Harbor hoarded the remains of pirate ships, Confederate vessels, and who knows what else. Even the quaint tourist shops and the air of Southern charm couldn't disguise Charleston's sinister secrets.

Dark eyes watched the dark seas, trailing the lights of the Fort Sumter Ferry as she made her last rounds. They turned from the cool glass to face their new home-away-from-home: yet another hotel room. They locked on the woman sitting crumpled on the couch. Her hair was pulled back in a bun that resembled a bloody bird's nest, her bangs curtaining those grey eyes.

_Those eyes…_

Like the moonlit harbor outside, their surface was composed, unwavering. But L knew the storm had just begun. The detective studied them piercingly, as if by willpower alone he could raise the wreckage he was sure was in their depths. All he obtained from these efforts was a dagger-like glance, and a muttered remark.

"The more you stare at me like that, the more of a reason I have to hit you again."

"You should know, Miss Clarity, I only let you strike me without consequence because of your gender," he replied. "If it were another case, you would have your nose broken by my foot. But now that you are in a mood to talk, I shall request that you explain your relationship with the most recent corpse."

L observed as she visibly shrank from the term given to the latest victim.

"_Don't call him that!_ You make him sound like an object when you say that!" Clarity snapped, then sighed. "His name was Patrick Rahn. As I said back in Savannah, he was my… fiancé." She nearly choked on the last word. "Well, I mean… He was my best friend. I only said yes to him because I didn't have a choice."

The man bit his pastel thumb, storing this new information into the complex of his memory. A shard of an old war ship had just broken the surface of those silvery eyes. Not enough to identify the vessel, but it was a start. "Please elaborate, Miss Clarity. Otherwise I will draw the conclusion that you were forced into marriage."

"Gee, nice deduction work, L. You should be a detective," she replied half-heartedly. She fiddled with the shoelaces strung up her thigh, obviously reluctant to reveal anymore of her past.

"Well," L started coolly, pivoting again to the window, "Since I have already investigated your history, I should tell you that I know your secrets. You only married him for the money, am I correct?"

It took some effort to suppress a grin at his lie. A perfect trap. If this is the same Clarity as the one at Wammy's, as proud as she seemed, she was insecure. In fact, that was about as much L had concluded about her at the orphanage as he watched her harass the younger children.

…"I did not!" she exclaimed (Just as planned). "You may want to check your sources next time, and make sure you don't get your information from old ladies cackling at a beauty salon!"

Clare stood and stalked up to the detective at the window, turning him by the shoulder so he faced her. L's skin crawled under her hand, desperate to escape her touch. He caught her icy stare, the gentle seas on the brink of roiling and churning like a storm. Her pale lips quivered, as if by the frigid squall under her features. Her emotions must have been like a tiny boat on those angry waves, about to break…

L had only a second to gather all of this, for the next Clarity was on her knees, her head hung in defeat. The tremble of her lips had transferred to her shoulders. The man called by a single letter could only stare slack-jawed as she said in a quiet voice:

"He was my best friend. His best friend was the booze. God knows I wanted him to stop. That's partially why I married him, to get him to stop... And partially because he'd strangle me if I didn't... Damn it, I put it upon myself!" Her voice rose, as did her head. Clarity's eyes met the dark, empty ones above her once more. "If I had just said no, tried not to be the hero and take the beatings, I would have been fine! But no, I had to try to fix him, try to save him. And look what it's done to me!"

She pulled up her baggy shirt a little, exposing bright red scars into the tense air.

"I should have known running wouldn't help. Somehow I'd be dragged back into it. And now I have to help you solve his murder? Find his killer and avenge them? Now I have to be reminded of him every _fucking_ day?" She paused, her whole body shaking. The redhead lunged, clutching the white fabric of the man's shirt. She pushed him against the window, the razor edge of her eyes chopping the detective's to bits. "It's _your_ fault! You just had to call me from my hiding place in Atlanta… Just so you can use me until I'm no longer needed! What you don't realize is that unlike you, I have emotions. I have my limits. I… really need the money."

Clarity ceased her shivering at this realization and released her death grip on L's shirt. Quietly, almost remorsefully, she slunk back to the couch.

For once, L had no idea what had happened. One moment Clarity was stubborn as ever, not giving anything away. The next, she sat broken at his feet, then seething the hatred of Hell onto his face. And now she sat slumped on the couch, rebuilding the wall between her world, the real world, and his world.

Now, what you may do in this situation may be logical in your mind: sit by her and comfort her; leave her be and let her cool off; whatever.

And so L did the most logical thing in his mind: Change the subject.

"Would you like me to show you to your room, Miss Clarity?"

He received a mumbled "Sure" in reply and dragged her through the door across adjacent to the couch.

"Why is your stuff in my room?" the redhead asked softly. She nodded toward the duffle bag in the corner, a jeans leg and a box of donuts peeking out of its zipper.

"As your eye for detail has failed to notice," L replied, "There is only one bedroom in this location. And I regret to say, there is only one bed."

He didn't need to meet her glance to know that she was giving him her signature death glare.

"Be assured, Miss Clarity, that we will not be sleeping in the same bed. I rarely sleep, if at all," he added, as if speaking to a child.

"…Well, if I wake up and we're spooning, I'll have no choice but to slap you again."

L swallowed a small smile. Clarity was back to her vicious self, and so she would be fine.

**-X:x:X-**

**Wow this chapter seemed longer as a Word Document :/ Oh well, how'd ya'll like it? Now that I've sufficiently introduced my OC, I hope I can get this plot rolling…maybe. We'll see. Please review!**

**-Lesser **


	5. Duct Tape

**Hello readers! I want to take this time you remind y'all that I don't own Death Note or it's characters, and or Bill Nye the Science Guy or duct tape for that matter. But I do own Clarity, so thou shalt not steal-eth her. And I know you're probably sick of my excuses by now, but I'm doing my best here to update regularly. :/ Anyways, on with the story!**

**-X:x:X-**

Isn't it strange how your wildest dreams can originate from an average memory? How the deepest subconscious can concoct an orgy of pure splendiferousness from the most mundane recollections? How the most serious and complicated thoughts can be misconstrued into something similar to a crack-head's visions?

Exhibit A:

Clare sat on the bar stool, enveloped by artificial night of the Atlanta nightclub. The pulsing stereos next to her didn't mitigate the headache that the liquor had yet to wash away. Finally free from the fists of Satan himself, her "lover" … at least until he found her again. She dazedly gazed up at the bartender, whose skin practically glowed under the black lights, like her white t-shirt. The eyes partially hidden under his black hair were cool, calculating… creepy as hell as they bore into her. He looked familiar, like someone from a distant time she'd fought long and hard to forget. The familiar stranger slowly leaned toward, slurring strings of sweet nothings into her drunken ears. His voice was like soft rainwater on a tin roof, hypnotizing her until at last she caved….

Clarity awoke due to lack of blanket and excess of floor. She pushed herself off of the obnoxiously printed carpet and sleepily peered over the edge of the dingy mattress. In the eerie green glow of the digital clock crouched the same pale man with just-rolled-out-of-bed hair and what could have been eyeliner smeared under his eyes. He had one leg bent and the other extended, which suggested he had just kicked her off the bed.

_Oh God_, _I actually hooked up with THAT?_ …That was her initial thought.

Followed by: _How is Pat gonna take this? Holy Hell, I don't even know where I am!_

And finally: _Oh wait, it's just that hunchbacked know-it-all that dragged me into this nightmarish case …That was all just a dream? Oh thank God!_

"Listen, I appreciate the wake-up call and everything, but why the hell am I up at," (She quickly glanced at the clock's glowing face.) "_four_ _in the bloody morning_?" Clare rubbed Sandman's grains from her eyes, her otherwise razor-sharp remark dulled by the sleep still thick in her voice.

"Your beauty sleep, not matter how much you need it, can wait." replied the insomnia-driven L, his tone as clear as in her dream. "I have made an interesting find. It seems your friend Patrick has helped us after all."

* * *

Four cups of coffee and an éclair later, Clarity was awake enough to see straight. That, however, did not assist her in understanding why little bits of duct tape were strewed across the coffee table like makeshift confetti. Three of the scraps laid stiffly on the glass surface, hard as rock. A tub of ink with a small paintbrush protruding from its lip rested next to them. What appeared to be a propane tank stood erect close by.

"Okay, Mr. Sphinx. I can decipher your riddle. Tell me the answer," she said, stepping over the metal tank to plop cross-legged on the couch.

"Well, Miss Clarity, while you were quite inconveniently sleeping," started L, not waiting for her snarky reply, "I was left alone to wonder how to extract any useful information from this latest murder, since no apparent evidence was found. Then it occurred to me that the killer had made a fatal mistake that we all have made: being born with a fingerprint."

L unscrewed the top of the tinny container, billows of white fog erupting from its open hatch. Liquid nitrogen. The panda-eyed detective then plucked one of the still floppy pieces of duct tape between the claws of a pair of tongs, shoving it into the icy liquid. He gingerly pulled it out, revealing a shard of what was once a limp adhesive strip.

"Okay, so you froze a piece of duct tape," said the redhead, unimpressed. "Way to go, Bill Nye the Science Guy. But what does that have to do with anything?"

He held up an index finger, begging for patience. He charily placed his science project on the coffee table, and then reached for the jar of ink and the complimentary hotel notepad with two fingers each. In one swift movement, he displaced the black liquid from the jar onto the rigid piece of tape. He flipped it onto the stack of blank papers and added slight pressure to the frozen strip.

When he handed her the notepad, Clarity finally grasped why the slouching man had set up this strange chain of experiments. She could clearly see a fingerprint, obviously left on the sticky side of the duct tape, transferred to the paper's surface. It was as clear as it would be if an ink-covered thumb touched it.

Although she hated to admit it, it was an ingenious method. Sure, you shouldn't expect less from the world's greatest detective. But it was even more envy-inducing to see that L was not only the master of logic games, but of technical puzzles as well. For as long as she could remember, the little twit had gotten A's in school for exercising the reasoning aspect of problem solving. Using resourcefulness and often overcomplicated schemes was Clarity's turf. This, this outlandish evidence extractor, crossed the line. This means war.

"Okay, so now we have a small lead. Do you think we should go up to everyone in Charleston and ask for their fingerprints?" she asked in a mocking tone. "_'Excuse me sir, we're doing an investigation, and you may be a suspect. May we get your fingerprint?'_ I thought you were all about being inconspicuous, you dope!"

"This is where I am in need your services," L replied in an infuriatingly patient voice, as if talking to a child. "I need you to search all of the criminal records in and around Charleston, as well as anything that has run through the police that they have managed to hide from us: information, evidence, et cetera. Please don't make haste. We have little time."

She sighed, reaching for her laptop from its resting place on the floor. "Fine, whatever. What I don't get is why you keep saying that there's no time to lose. I don't see the big rush."

"As you have again failed to notice, Miss Clarity," (_It is hard __**not**__ to notice the eye roll in your voice, however,_ she thought.) "This is very likely a serial killer. Or in simpler terms, someone who kills three or more people within thirty days, often for psychological gratification. As you can see, we have found two victims in the span of three days. There's a roughly eighty percent chance there will be another, if not more, to come soon. Also, serial killers usually take time between killing sprees to regroup, and to let the leads run cold. If we wait, then we will not only endanger future victims, but also our chances of bring the murderer to justice."

* * *

And so with a signature I-don't-want-to-do-this-but-I-have-no-choice-and-did-I-mention-I-hate-you glare, the redheaded hacker set to work, wading through the names and faces of crooks. L watched in amusement as her fingers flew over the keys, growing angrier with every false lead. Yes, Clarity Kale was certainly entertaining when she was in a bad mood. The way her nose twitched slightly and her eyebrow was set above those smoldering eyes in fuming determination might have developed in their eight years apart, although he didn't pay much attention to her details back at Wammy's. He wasn't sure why he was now, to be honest. Maybe it was for future use, of perhaps out of boredom. Or it might have been something else he couldn't quite pinpoint…

"Hey L, I found something. Two somethings."

He tossed aside the enigma in his mind, focusing his blank stare onto the enigma sitting in front of him.

"I just came across a record with a picture of the guy from Savannah, the first victim. His name is Lee Yates, citizen of Charleston with a large estate in Savannah. He's been charged with sexual abuse and rape. Weird, huh?"

Not waiting for a reply, she continued, "And I found paperwork for a credit card recently turned into the police, found a block away from the newest…victim." Clare stumbled on the last word, but if it was for emotional reasons and not just a slip of the tongue, she didn't show it. "The report says they dusted for fingerprints and found some. I think it matches the ones on the duct tape! Here's an image of it…" She turned the screen toward the detective, but he didn't glance at it. Instead he let his sight grow distant as he thought.

_Hmm, a pattern is emerging. The first victim was obviously a criminal, and according to Clarity's account, so was Patrick Rahn, the second killing. I highly doubt she would lie about such a thing, since she has nothing to gain from giving false information. But you can never be too careful…_

"…Um, so I've tracked the account, and I've found something interesting." she continued, causing L's eyes to snap into focus. "It seems the owner of the credit card frequents minor league baseball games."

"Which means the probability that the killer frequents minor league baseball games has risen to forty percent."

"Which means you can guess where we're going this weekend," Clarity said cheerily, but obviously sarcastic. She stood and walked toward the hotel's small kitchen, rumpling L's already disheveled hair. She intentionally ignoring his out-of-character, quizzical glance. As the redhead grabbed her fifth, but probably not last, cup of black coffee, she began to hum "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" and let a mischievous grin spread across her lips.

**-X:x:X-**

**So yeah, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter! Please review!**

**-Lesser**


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